Gimme Kiss

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Ilya: Mama, don’t worry about me. I have a family now, I am happy.

Ilya’s birthday celebration had stretched into nearly a week of binge drinking, eating (no bird food allowed, Shane!) and partying with friends and family. But on the evening of his actual birthday, Ilya chose to spend it with Shane and his parents, the Hollanders: his chosen family. 

Everything was handmade: the banner, the cake, which he had requested to have 35 candles but could only fit 20, and even a few Russian dishes they had managed to cook for him. At the other end of the table sat a framed picture of his mother.

and shane says, "who is it?"

"lily!"

"oh." shane immediately sets aside what he's doing and walks over, saying to his mom, "that's ilya."

yuna looks at him in confusion as he picks up his phone. "why is ilya saved as 'lily' in your phone?"

and shane looks at her, away, shrugs as if it's obvious and simply says, "I can't have ilya rozanov saved on my phone, mom" before answering the call with a, "hey, baby" and walking away.

Their first kid: Daddy look! Papa made us Scotty nuggets.

Shane, on the other hand, is not super into the idea.

“My parents don’t have a VHS player.”

“Is literally right beside your knee, Hollander.”

“Well, it’s boring! Why do you want to see a dumb recording of me as a kid anyway?”

“Because it’s adorable?” Ilya says incredulously. “And you are adorable?”

“Oh, I forgot we had that!” Yuna exclaims, coming to sit on the couch with her glass of wine. “God, I miss those days. Shane was the cutest timbit.”

Timbit, Ilya mouths to himself, his fingers curling around the tape. This is Shane as a timbit? In all his tiny little hockey gear at the Bell Center? Ilya needs to see it. “Shane.”

Shane looks at him and sighs.

They put the tape in.

Ilya almost dies as the grainy screen resolves itself into an MC and a tiny Shane, dressed in his hockey gear. His helmet is crooked on his head, his stick tap tap tapping against it as he stares at the interviewer, determined. His cheeks are big and round and pink from the cold of the ice, and though Ilya cannot make out his freckles, he knows from pictures that they’re there. The MC crouches down and a packed Bell Center is visible behind them.

“And here we have number 24, Shane Hollander!” The MC says in heavily accented English. “Let’s give him a round of applause. Shane, how are you feeling tonight, are you excited to be here?”

“Um. Yes.”

“And how old are you, Shane?”

Little Shane closes his eyes for a moment, taking a big, deep breath before reciting: “My name is Shane Hollander and I’m a hockey player. I am three years old and I go to Glebe Co-operative Nursery School in Ottawa and my mommy and daddy are Yuna and David. And I’m three.”

The MC laughs a little. “That’s a great introduction, Shane, thank you. Do you have anyone here with you tonight, cheering you on in the audience?”

Shane’s eyes open, but he doesn’t break out into a toothy grin. No, instead, Shane—serious, no-nonsense Shane—nods and leans in to the microphone like he’s giving a post-game interview. “Yes, my mommy and my daddy.”

“And are they big Metros fans?”

“Yes.”

“What about you?”

“Yes, too. They’re gonna go all the way this year. They have all the pieces for a winning team.”

“That’s what we love to hear, Shane, we agree and we love the confidence. Can we expect to see you on the ice someday? Do you want to be a hockey player when you grow up?”

“Yes, I’m a hockey player.”

“Do you want to play for Montreal?”

“Yes.”

“Can we get some encouragement for the team from you, Shane? Maybe a Go Metros Go?”

This, Shane takes extremely seriously. Ilya watches him nod with all the solemnity of a general going to war, and then releases his own tiny, passionate battle cry: “Go Metros Go!”

“Shane Hollander, everyone, let’s give him another round of applause!”